


Sweety Tweety

by DreamsAreMyWords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Clexa, Clexaweek2018, Day 7, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Free day, Friends to Lovers, Mentioned Kabby, Mentioned Ranya, Pets, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/pseuds/DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: Modern au where Lexa has a very rude pet parrot with a filthy mouth that shouts out intimate details of Lexa's sex life to the point where Lexa can't ever invite anyone over to her apartment without traumatizing them. Then Clarke comes over to her apartment for the first time and in a way, he actually turns out to be quite the wingman...





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might have read this on Tumblr. I decided to post it on here in case I ever add to it. Fluff and humor and some dirty talk. Enjoy!

 

                                                             

 

Lexa Woods is an interesting character. Clarke discovered that early on, when they first became friends and bonded over their love of obscure Netflix shows. They've been friends for months now, and they've spent many an afternoon curled up on Clarke's couch binge-watching series after series and biting their lips to hide their smiles as their hands brush when reaching for the popcorn. Lexa's funny and sweet and so smart and Clarke's been working up the courage to ask her out, but there's just one problem.

She's never been to Lexa's place. At all. Ever. Not once.

And that would be fine, honestly, except it's been months now and Lexa gets really shifty about it. Clarke will walk her home after work sometimes, and they'll linger outside her apartment, but Lexa always rambles off some reason why Clarke can't come in for a drink or even to just check out where her new best friend lives...and Clarke's starting to think something's up. Is she in a relationship and hiding it? Is she a total slob and embarrassed? Is she a hoarder? A creepy doll collector? Does she keep human body parts in jars? What's the deal?

It baffles her enough that one day she just decides to ask, and then she makes the discovery that Lexa apparently has a pet parrot, and-

“You don’t understand, Clarke, he is very, very rude.”

“What’d’you mean, he’s rude? I can’t hang out with you at your apartment because you have a rude pet bird?”

“Yes, you-” Lexa pauses to expel a long-suffering sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s—he’ll cuss at you, he’ll—he says all sorts, you never know what will come out of his beak, I don’t want you to hear…” She clears her throat and Clarke watches in amusement as the tips of her ears glow pink. “I mean, he’s just a jerk, I don’t want him to offend you.”

Clarke snorts. “If your bird cusses at me, I’ll cuss him right back. Honestly, Lexa,” she shakes her head as she gathers up their food and sweeps past Lexa toward the apartment, leaving Lexa to squeak and hasten after her, hesitating before she reluctantly opens the apartment door to let Clarke in.

Lexa must be crazy, Clarke thinks at first, because the culprit in question is nothing short of adorable. He’s small and gray and has cute, brightly colored toys in his cage, and the way he looks up at Clarke with his head cocked to the side tells her he never gets guests.

“Is this him? The big bad reason I’ve never stepped foot in here?”

“That’s him all right,” says Lexa, eyes narrowed on the bird, a type of maternal crossness in her gaze as though she’s warning him with it.

Clarke laughs quietly and tuts her tongue at the bird, glancing at Lexa to make sure its okay before she wiggles her fingers through the cage, only managing to stroke his back once before he shuffles farther over on his perch. “What’s his name?”

“Sweety.”

Clarke laughs again. “Sweety? For irony, or are you just overdramatic?”

Lexa scowls, making Clarke’s grin widen. “Anya named him, she calls him Sweety Tweety. They get along famously, which makes perfect sense because they’re both assholes who live to make my life difficult.” Her scowl deepens. “He also went by the name of Ed for like, a day. My ex-girlfriend was the one who brought him home, but Anya came over that night and the name she gave him stuck.”

They dig into their food before it gets cold and Lexa seems to relax as they make their way through the pizza. It isn’t until Lexa gets up to make tea and asks Clarke if she wants any it that things get interesting. “Yes, Lexa,” she answers her, and Lexa nods before disappearing into the kitchen, and then the bird talks.

“Yes, Lexa.” Innocent enough; Clarke smiles as he repeats it. Then his voice drops an octave, emphasizes the first word.

“Yes, Lexa. _Yes_ , Lexa. _Oh yes,_ Lexa.”

Clarke stiffens on the couch, eyes widening, wondering if the bird is actually doing what she thinks he is—could birds even have sultry voices? What the hell?

When Lexa comes bustling in with wide eyes and pink cheeks, it confirms it.

“Oh God, you set him off,” she says, and immediately cringes afterward.

“Oh, God,” croons the bird, “Oh God, _yes. Yes, Lexa. Oh God, yes, Lexa!”_

“Um.” Clarke reaches over to grab the cup of tea Lexa had set on the couch, more for something to do with her hands than anything. “I didn’t realize this is what you meant when you said he’s rude.”

“I’m sorry!” says Lexa, face flushed and in a bit of a panic as she tries, without avail, to put a blanket over the cage to shut Sweety up. It does nothing but muffle his voice slightly, which he compensates for by raising it. “He’s—I mean, he’s just a little shit. They’re like toddlers, they do it for attention, he—“

“Harder, Lexa. Harder!”

Clarke chokes on her tea.

“Shut up,” she hisses, rattling his cage slightly.

_“Lexa. Oh God, Lexa, yes Lexa, harder Lexa-”_

“Oh my God.” Lexa scrubs her hands over her furiously blushing face and drags them through her hair, turning to look helplessly at Clarke. “I am so sorry. He’s—I brought a girl home once and made the mistake of bringing her here in the living room and I forgot about him and he—he hasn’t been the same since. At first I thought I traumatized him but he only does it when there’s company so I think Anya was encouraging him, giving him treats because she found it hilarious, but now he’s impossible, but I can’t give him up because he’s like family, so I just never have anyone over instead.”

And Clarke is laughing then, so hard that tears stream down her face, partly because this situation really is hilarious and partly because she doesn’t want to think about the fact that Lexa’s obviously given some girl a good enough time that it’s imprinted itself on this parrot and turned it into a porn loop, and she gave her a good time maybe even on this very couch Clarke is sitting on, and now she’s blushing even harder because Lexa is very, very pretty, which Clarke has only been far too aware of for the past few months since they became friends.

And now the bird is moaning and Clarke can’t do anything but laugh, because Lexa is absolutely mortified and Clarke is too, and it’s never ending.

“Shut up, Sweety, please, Jesus—“

“Fuck! Fuck! Oh God yes! Harder Lexa! _Yes, Lexa!”_

“You are such a little shit, I swear I should feed you to the cat next door!”

“It’s okay,” shouts Clarke over his wailing, still spluttering with laughter, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Lexa, he just—“

“Oh he knows exactly what he’s saying” snarls Lexa, “He’s a little shit!”

“Lexa yes!”

“No, Sweety, bad bird!”

“Lexa yes!”

“Lexa no!”

_“Lexa yes!”_

It takes another twenty minutes but the bird eventually settles down, probably because Clarke takes pity on it and Lexa and eases her aside to remove the blanket and slip a few treats from the box beside the cage into it.

“Thanks,” says Lexa, exhausted and still flushed pink. “That…definitely doesn’t help and if anything just further cements the behavior, but thanks for finding humor in the situation.”

“I mean, it is pretty funny when you think about it.” She leans over to brush a kiss to Lexa’s overheated cheek, smiling when Lexa swallows and her gaze flits over to her, green and close. “Kinda wish I came over here sooner, honestly. Maybe next time I’ll bring some bird treats so I’m better prepared.”

Lexa raises her brow and smiles, leaning in closer to Clarke. “There’s going to be a next time?”

Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Lexa. Yes.”

“Lexa no,” says the bird loftily.

Lexa scowls while Clarke looks incredulously at the bird, who only sips his water as though it’s tea.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Lexa make it through dinner with her girlfriend's mom without her rude pet bird ruining the evening by being a feathered porn loop? Let's find out.

 

                                                            

 

“So, let me get this straight—even though there’s nothing remotely straight about this.”

“Har, har.”

Anya ignores her, poking treats into the cage that Sweety impatiently gobbles up. “You’re having your mother-in-law—“

“She’s not my—“

“Fine, _future_ mother-in-law, whatever,” amends Anya with a roll of her eyes, “She’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night so you want me to babysit your bird to prevent him from scarring her with sex noises.”

“Yes,” says Lexa firmly; the glance she gives Sweety is torn between affection and exasperation. Sweety turns around as he scarfs down water, turning his back tail toward Lexa. It’s coincidence, she’s sure, but Lexa still huffs in incredulity.  “Unbelievable, look at him. You can’t tell me he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.”

“Jesus, take the stick out of your ass. He’s a bird.”

“You say bird, I say ancient, all-powerful dinosaur.”

“You don’t say that, Raven does. See, _she_ didn’t run for the hills the first time you brought her over for dinner here.”

“Because you both were too busy flirting to pay attention to anything else.”

Anya waves her hand as though it’s inconsequential. “When Clarke brought her friends over for movie night, there didn’t seem to be any problems there.”

“Yes,” says Lexa dryly, “Because Octavia was too busy shoving so many treats down his throat he barely got the chance to speak, and Wells made up an excuse to leave the moment Sweety started talking.”

“What about when Aden visits?”

Lexa deadpans her. “He’s deaf, Anya. Not that that stops Sweety anyway. I had a headache for three days after that, he was screaming so loud.” She sighs, sweeping a hand through her hair in agitation. “Look, this is important. Can you take him off our hands for a night or what?”

Anya gave her a crooked grin. “Yeah, course I can. I just like making you work for it.” She surveys the way Lexa stands so stiff-backed and still, eyes glued to Sweety. “What’s got you so worked up, anyway? You’ve already met her mom, haven’t you? Isn’t this like your third or fourth dinner?”

Lexa ran another hand through her hair, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, but this is the first time over here. She insisted here because she wanted to see where her daughter lives, we couldn’t exactly say no just because…”

“Just because you have a sex parrot,” finishes Anya. “Yeah, no, I can see how that wouldn’t be a valid excuse.”

“I don’t want him to say something rude and freak out her mom. I want her to like me. I mean, it’s important that she…”

Anya arches a brow. “It’s important she likes you because…?”

Lexa slants her a withering glare, certain Anya’s just trying to drag it out of her. “Because it’s Clarke’s mom.”

“Which matters because you…”

“Love her,” finishes Lexa, fighting not to smile as the words leave her lips, unwilling to give a smirking Anya the satisfaction. “I love her, so I want this night to be perfect.”

Anya nods and sighs, clapping a hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “All right, kid, don’t worry about it. You can count on me.”

 

They can’t count on Anya, as it turns out.

“Oh my God no,” hisses Lexa when she shows up at the back door carrying the cage.

“I’m so sorry.” Anya doesn’t particularly look sorry. The way Anya’s lips are sucked in and her eyes are bright indicates she’s about half a second away from bursting into laughter. She lifts the cage and pushes it into Lexa’s arm; Sweety chirps indignantly. “I tried, I did, but he won’t shut up and my neighbors have already stopped by twice to complain, and Raven has a big project due in the morning and she can’t concentrate.”

“Oh my God,” says Clarke in horror, looking down at the cage as though it contains a ticking time bomb. “Anya, please. Can’t you just—just sit in your car for a couple hours with him or something? Please?”

“No can do,” says Anya easily, downturning her lips as though to give an apologetic pout; nothing happens except a weird lopsided smirk. “Sorry, blondie, I have to go. You guys have fun with your dinner though. Should be entertaining, Raven and I want to hear all about it in the morning.”

And with that she slips out the door before they can utter another protest. Clarke and Lexa look at each other.

“I hate her,” says Lexa at the same time Clarke says, “I should have never introduced Raven to her, they’re both terrible.” They sigh as they look down at Sweety, who stares unblinkingly back up at them, the picture of innocence. They don’t trust it for a second.

“This will have to do,” announces Lexa a few minutes later; she and Clarke are standing deep in their bedroom closet, securely tucking Sweety’s cage beneath the winter coats.

“It’ll have to,” says Clarke anxiously, glancing at the time on her phone. “It’s too late to cancel. She’ll be here any minute, her Lyft is on its way. Oh, geez.”

“Nervous?” asks Lexa as she rises up and dusts off her knees.

“Very,” admits Clarke. She exhales steadily when Lexa wraps her arms around her waist and pulls her close, pressing their foreheads together. Clarke clutches at her and Lexa can’t help but breathe her in, heart swelling.

“It’ll be okay,” says Lexa, even as she trembles with anxiety inside. It is okay. Nothing can go wrong. The apartment is sparkling and immaculate, the dinner simmering on the stove smells heavenly, and Lexa is head over heels in love with Clarke even though she’d yet to work up the courage to tell her. Even if Abby finds fault in everything else, she can’t deny the way Lexa feels about her daughter.

“I know it will, because I have you,” breathes Clarke, tipping her head up to press her lips to Lexa’s.

I love you. Lexa wants to say it, but she doesn’t. Not yet. That’s for a week from now; she made reservations at Clarke’s favorite restaurant.

The doorbell rings and thus begins the evening. Abby greets them warmly and follows them into the kitchen. They pour the wine, serve the food, chat, and for a time, everything is great. Until it’s not. Until a distant voice calls through the house.

“Oh yes! Oh yes!”

_Oh no._

Abby looks up, frowning,

“Oh yes, oh my _God, oh yes!”_

“It’s nothing,” says Lexa quickly, cheeks already tinting pink. “We, um, must have left the television on in the bedroom. One moment.” She exchanges a meaningful glance with Clarke and pushes her chair back from the table, hurrying out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

Sweety’s cries greet her the moment she pushes open the closet door and flicks on the light. “Oh, yes! _Lexa yes!”_

“Lexa no,” hisses Lexa, bending down to throw a couple heavy coats over the cage. He starts squawking louder in outrage.

“Lexa yes! Oh God! Harder! More! Clarke! _Clarke!”_

“Oh my God,” whispers Clarke when she slips into the closet behind her. Lexa looks up at her helplessly. “Get that off his cage, you know it pisses him off!”

“I don’t know what else to do,” she says pleadingly, whipping the coats off his cage. Sweety’s chest puffs up as he turns to face him on his perch and says, _“Fuck, yeah!”_

“Screw this,” mutters Clarke, reaching down to tear open a new box of bird treats.

“Let go for me,” moans Sweety, _“Jesus Christ. Oh, Clarke, yes. Please, Clarke.”_

“We can’t just give him treats every time he does this to shut him up,” says Lexa weakly, watching as she shoves a handful into the cage. “It just gives him exactly what he wants and reinforces the behavior…”

“Lexa, now is not the time to discuss proper bird-raising techniques.” Clarke throws down the box and snatches Lexa’s hand up instead, tugging her with her from the closet. “Come on, hurry, before she realizes something’s up—“

When they hurry back into the kitchen, Abby appears to be drinking deeply from her glass of wine. Her cheeks are blotchy, perhaps from the alcohol—but then she lowers the glass and watches Clarke and Lexa scoot their chairs in with narrowed eyes.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

Lexa is a bit perplexed by her sardonic tone and the way her narrowed gaze lingers on them. “Yes, fine.”

“Just had a movie playing,” says Clarke, avoiding her mother’s eyes as she pours herself a second glass of wine. “It’s all good now. Anyone ready for dessert?”

Abby stares. “Clarke, we’ve barely touched dinner.”

“Oh yeah.” Clarke flushes, digging into her chicken and asparagus.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly along. They chat about work and school and the weather and Lexa’s actually enjoying herself. Lexa isn’t the type of person to be intimidated by people, but if she were, Dr. Griffin, the mother of the love of her life, was certainly one of them. Clarke has assured her that Abby likes her, however, and if the clean plate is any indication, Abby seems to have enjoyed this meal.

It isn’t until Lexa brings out the banana pudding that things go south.

“Clarke! Oh, Clarke!”

Abby looks up at the both of them, brow furrowed in concern. “What is that? Is there someone else here?”

“Ah.” Clarke exchanges a panic-stricken look with Lexa. “Um. Not exactly, it’s, uh—“

_“Yes, Clarke!”_

Abby’s eyes shoot to her hairline and Clarke fumbles for her phone, claiming they should have music accompanying dessert, but it’s a lost cause. It’s a lost cause because Sweety starts screaming his head off to the point where there’s no mistaking what he’s saying, and Abby freezes in her seat, fork full of wafer paused just before her open mouth, eyes widening as she hears, _“Oh God, Clarke, yes, please. Harder. Fuck me, Clarke. Oh God, Lex, I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—“_

“Oh my God.” Clarke buries her face in her hands; her voice is muffled as she tells her mother, “Mom, I’m sorry. We have a pet parrot and he’s—he’s really rude. Just ignore him, please, oh my God.”

Abby remains frozen for another beat before jolting out of it. She nods several times before taking a bite of pudding and chewing mechanically.

Lexa stares down at her own pudding and contemplates all the possible meals one can make with a small parrot.

_“I’m coming, I’m coming, oh Clarke—“_

If Lexa wasn’t already furiously blushing before, she is now. She’s sweating with it and her hand trembles and she takes a spoonful of pudding, carefully avoiding looking anywhere but down at her plate. Beside her, Clarke takes a shaky gulp of wine. Abby is clenching her spoon so hard her knuckles are shining white.

_“Please, baby, please let me come, please, I want you inside me—“_

“Oh my God,” chokes Abby, spoon clattering as she drops it on the table, chair squealing as she shoves it back unceremoniously and surges to her feet. “Clarke, I can’t listen to this! What’s even—“

“It’s a parrot!” says Clarke helplessly, getting up and hurrying to the bedroom. Lexa and Abby follow. “His name is Sweety Tweety and he’s the cutest thing ever when he’s not being a complete asshole. He’s just—he repeats everything he hears!” They’ve hardly entered the bedroom when Clarke reemerges from the closet carrying the cage, bird flapping his wings within it to stay balanced.

_“He repeats everything he hears!”_

Clarke is beet-red and flustered as she lifts it up, gesticulating toward it as she explains, “See? Everything! They say parrots are just like this but I say he’s a little perv who likes driving us up the wall—“

Correct, thinks Lexa weakly; truthfully, Sweety could be quite the wing-man sometimes. It’s hard not to get in the mood when you hear your girlfriend’s dirty words thrown back at you. It was a point of entertainment and hilarity most nights.

“Clarke, why don’t you—why don’t you keep him away from you when you participate in such—such—“ Abby struggles and stammers, flustered and blushing and looking much like her daughter right now. “Activities!”

“We do! He just—he can hear us through the walls, we’re just—I mean, we try to be quiet but we’re…we’re not very good at it and he can hear us all the way from the living room and—“

“Oh my God, I don’t want to hear any more.” Abby actually presses her palms over her ears and closes her eyes, shaking her head. After a moment she opens her eyes again and drops her hands to exclaim, “Why are you giving him treats? Don’t you know that just reinforces the bad behavior?”

Lexa pokes treats into his cage. “I know,” she says miserably, “But it’s the only thing that shuts up him.”

And it has indeed. Sweety is silent as he happily chomps down on “Sweety’s treaties” as Octavia dubbed them.

“So this is why you haven’t invited me over here,” says Abby, a little calmer now that the bird wasn’t shrieking loudly enough to shatter glass.

Clarke sighs. “I am so sorry, Mom. We’re mortified. Anya and Raven were supposed to babysit him tonight but they bailed on us.”

Abby doesn’t respond at first, curiously watching Sweety eat. “You know, I’ve watched Youtube videos of these birds saying rude things, but I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“Yeah,” says Clarke, sounding relieved her mother hasn’t ran screaming from the house. “He’s entertaining when he’s not being a little shit. He’s the reason why I never even came over here for months.”

Abby shifts her gaze onto Lexa and opens her mouth; Lexa anticipates what she’s going to say.

“I can’t get rid of him,” she says honestly. “He’s like part of the family. I’ve had him for a couple years now and I’m—I’m kind of stuck with him for life, now, as annoying as he is.”

“And he’s very annoying,” says Clarke seriously, “He learned the name of our amazon echo and somehow placed an order. For a three thousand dollar mattress.”

“He once bit my neighbor Aden and he had to get stitches,” says Lexa.

“He’s also shat on my art projects—multiple times.”

“He sounds like a headache.”

“He is,” Lexa assures her, “But…he’s our headache. We love him.”

“I love her.”

All three of them stiffen, turning to look down at Sweety, who just lazily sips at his water once, twice, before saying again, _“I love her.”_

Lexa looks up at Clarke, who she’s sure is the picture of herself right now—both of them shocked, with wide eyes and parted lips. Lexa’s heart doesn’t sink at the fact that Sweety’s blasted her not-so-secret secret, but it does start pounding. She swallows and licks her lips and opens her mouth to confess to it, but Clarke beats her to the punch.

“I didn’t want you to hear it like this,” she says, and Lexa frowns, “I mean—it’s true, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Wait. I thought I was the one who said it.”

A crease appears between Clarke’s brow. “What? No, I was talking to Raven yesterday and I told her. I forgot Sweety was there.”

“But I did the same thing when I was talking to Anya!” Then Lexa stills again as realization settles in; her heart beats so hard it’s a wonder Sweety doesn’t hear it and start making the noises. “Hang on. You love me?”

“Of course I do,” laughs Clarke. “I was half in love with you before I ever even stepped foot in this place.” She tilts her head, smiling. “You love me?”

“Pretty sure I have since the moment I met you,” admits Lexa. She grins as Clarke sets down the cage and flings her arms around her. They cling to one another for a long moment, before Clarke tips her head up and fits their mouths together. Sweety says something but they don’t even hear it, too busy smiling so broadly they can barely kiss through it. Then Clarke’s teeth scrape across Lexa’s lower lip and, oh. It sinks in. Clarke loves her.

Clarke loves her.

They love each other.

They sway where they stand as Clarke’s hands bury in Lexa’s hair, as Lexa squeezes her waist, as their tongues slide together and she swallows the breathy moan Clarke spills into her mouth.

They jerk apart when Abby pointedly clears her throat; they’d forgotten she was there.

“Your bird just called you gay,” says Abby, smiling slightly. “And I think that’s my cue to leave.”

Clarke and Lexa stumbled forward with half-hearted “Oh no, you don’t have to go!” and “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for any more dessert? Another glass of wine?”

Abby shook her head and pulled them both into a hug. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s been an interesting evening, that’s for sure. Might make for an entertaining story for the grandkids,” she adds with a wiggle of her brow that has both Clarke and Lexa coughing and blushing again, before Abby settles into another smile and says, “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

“Thanks Mom.”

“It was a lovely dinner too. Thank you.”

They walk Abby to the door; after she’s left, they retrieve Sweety from the bedroom and put his cage back in its place in the living room.

“You are a very, very rude bird,” Lexa tells him.

He just ignores her, dropping his beak into his half-empty water dish again.

Clarke sidles up to Lexa, hands slipping under her shirt to scrape short nails across the small of Lexa’s back; Lexa shivers. “So, tonight went a direction I didn’t expect.”

Lexa’s lips curve as she turns in Clarke’s arms, presses a soft kiss to the hinge of her jaw that has her clutching at her, nails digging in. “Agreed. Let’s talk about it.”

“We think we should talk in the bedroom,” says Clarke with a lopsided smile, palms to Lexa’s stomach to push her, leading her backwards down the hallway. “I have a lot to say.”

“I bet,” murmurs Lexa.

Clothes scatter along the hallway. They fall back onto the bed, lips drifting across bare skin, hands sliding.

“I love you,” breathes Clarke when Lexa kisses her way down her body.

“I love you too.” Clarke’s legs fall open for her and Lexa busies herself between them, wrapping her fingers around warm thighs and lowering her head. She’s hardly tasted when words drift to her ears.

_“I’m coming.”_

Lexa pops her head up, frowning, noting the way Clarke isn’t yet holding her breath, isn’t yet tightening up, isn’t shuddering. “Already?”

Clarke’s body shakes, but it’s only with the effort to suppress her laughter. “That was the bird, actually.”

“Jesus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. It's been a laugh :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
